BHS Inkwell 2017-2018

“He was probably hunting,” I say. “I honestly never thought you would be the type for conspiracy theories, Rufus, but you’ve really proven me wrong.” I force a little laugh. Our conversation gives way to the sounds of our rhythmic footfalls and quick breaths.The path cuts across the Meadow and winds through the forest, eventually leading us back to the abandoned barn where we began. I close my eyes as we come to a stop and my breathing begins to return to normal. “That was a tough run,” I say. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m exhausted.” Rufus frowns, “Is something wrong?” “I’ve been having these nightmares,” I reply. “Really creepy stuff.” Rufus nods. “Same here. It’s probably because of the Meadow.That whole place radiates negative energy, makes it hard to get a good night’s sleep.” “Rufus,” I laugh. “You can’t just blame everything on the Meadow.” “That’s what you think,” he grumbles. I don’t think about the Meadow again until I’m getting ready for bed. It is a little strange how

passionate that lady was about saving the Meadow. I don’t know many people that care so much about a desolate patch of grass in the middle of a forest. I’ve never even seen anyone spend a substantial amount of time in the Meadow anyway. Well, not during the day… I shake the thought from my head. Rufus is, of course, wrong. Fenton is just a stereotypical small town. No one here is stealing cats and using them in ritual sacrifice. I text Rufus goodnight before I turn off the lamp on my bedside table. “Goodnight,” he texts back. “Don't let the sadistic occult practices going on in the Meadow disturb your sleep.” I smile a little bit before closing my eyes. Grass under my bare feet. The air is thick with the sickly-sweet smell of flowers and rot. My f ingers drip, sticky, crimson, and hot. A spider dangles in the air in front of me, its spindly legs clinging on to a thin, silken thread that sways back and forth like a pendulum. I look up at the sky, the color of a deep bruise. The stars dart around like fluorescent minnows in a pool of darkness. I watch them, but they are almost too quick too follow with my eyes. They begin to whirl

Clement Leroux

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